13 Hallowed Nights: The Third Night
by Corvus no Genmu
Summary: Cool jade sparked with sudden clarity, a memory forgotten with a shattered power but united as she now was, it returned with crystalline clarity. He had changed since then, barely in some ways, astronomically in others...


**Disclaimer:** I own what is my own.

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_"What can you do, that cannot be undone…?"_

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**Thirteen Hallowed Nights**

**The Third Night:**

_"The Lust"_

By Corvus no Genmu

He hadn't walked these halls in what felt like lifetimes. The castle halls hadn't really changed much since his last visit all those years ago but he didn't really expect it to. The stones walls were covered in dust, the light of the torches casting strange warping shadows that watched his every step like a viper would a mouse. The glassless windows revealed a teaming forest where the creatures that dwelled therein made their presence known this moonless night with howls and roars, a symphony of the midnight hour. He'd rather spend a bit of time admiring the view but he the night was not eternal even in this place and he would have to be back before the dawn rose and with it his sleeping charge. He cast a glance behind him.

The feline was following dutifully behind with gleaming eyes, one dark like the ocean waters and the other bright like freshly poured amber. Its tails, two in number and both equally twice the length of its body, made strange motions in the air as it moved, faint sigils appearing and disappearing with a casual flick as the shadows writhed around it, angry and impressed. Feathered wings flexed and suddenly the cat was airborne and was upon Jacque's shoulder with a pleased purr.

"Like this place do you?" A deeper purr was his answer and he couldn't help the small smile as he scratched the cat's chin. "Well, pray she favors cats as much as she does bats." He stopped before a large door before which stood a pair of old men both dressed in the attire of retainers of the castle, butlers by the primness of their clothes but he could see the soldier in them. The stiffened spines, the narrowed eyes, and the hands clenched and ready to tear him asunder at the slightest inclination. He made no move to open the doors and merely stood there.

Waiting.

A wind blew by though this section of the hall was bare of windows and both retainers narrowed their eyes, ears twitching as they listened to quiet and powerful whispers. They glanced at their brother-in-arms before their dark red eyes fell upon Jacque. Silent as the grave, they turned to face each other and with a simple push, opened their respected doors.

Jacque started forward but was stopped by a pair of arms crossing before him. He glanced up and saw crimson eyes set upon the feline laying across his shoulders. His eyes narrowed the tiniest bit and he glanced at the cat that no longer sported its usual amused grin. Sweat glistened on the brows of the retainers but they met the stare of the nekomata regardless of their fear.

"Nibi." Jacque stroked the tails of the cat soothingly. "I've heard that the kitchen staff will be serving a midnight meal, an Amazonian dish if I'm not mistaken." An amber eye glanced upon him but though it was skeptical, hunger still linger in the golden depths. The nekomata leapt from his shoulders and lazily floated down to the floor and raising its tails high, marched off towards the kitchen. Jacque looked back at the retainers who stood relaxed on either side, both heaving sighs of relief as he stepped through the open doors which closed slowly behind him of their own accord.

_The throne room certainly hasn't changed much…_ He surmised. _Regal carpets fit for a sultan,_ _torch lights made of the finest platinum…_ _That same canopy…_

The canopy itself was immensely tall, covering the throne from top to bottom with plenty of cloth to spare and only by the candle lights within it was Jacque given any clue of the throne's occupancy. He walked forward until he stood at the bottom of the small set of stairs that led up to the throne. Once there he inclined his head ever so slightly not as a bow of submission but a nod of recognition between two old friends.

"So… after all these years you decide to come back… like that?"

Jacque glanced down at himself. He thought he was dressed rather smartly, a bit more than usual he'd like to think considering the fact that what he considered as casual would be considered as business-only. "Too little?"

"Too much." Was the dry retort. "She'll make a mess of it before she moves on to you."

"Ah…" By his tone, Jacque knew that he wasn't saying anything positive. "I take it then she hasn't grown to liking the idea?"

"Liking…?" A loud scoff, the rustling of curtains as an imposing shadow leaned down on his throne bearded head resting on a fighter's fists. "Be thankful that I chose to not inform her of this when she was younger and her memories of you still fresh in her mind… I would be missing a castle at this point I'm sure…"

He tried to keep the hopeful wishing from his voice. "From excitement?"

"Impatience, but that would have been does not exist here." A heavy sigh, a black shade reclining tiredly against a golden throne. "She is young still, and like all young people she is too foolish to realize the depths of her own mortality…"

Jacque tilted his head, eyes closed in thoughtful silence. "She has several years ahead of her, more so if she were to accept."

"You'll find that earning her acceptance will be the hardest task to undertake, my friend… She will not believe in you or in your exploits past…"

"Such little faith in your daughter?" Jacque smiled, a teasing lilt in his words, one eye opening the tiniest bit to peak up at the shadow thrown upon the curtain of the canopy.

"As much as you."

The corner of Jacque's lip twitched, revealing a hint of lengthy canine but he kept his soft smile despite the cruel words. "Touché."

The foreboding shadow leaned back on his throne, tired of the conversation as the candles dimmed around him, enveloping him in a stronger darkness. "If you truly think you can tame my daughter, then you are a bigger fool than I first thought you to be… but perhaps it would be best if you spoke with her personally on the matter. Though be warned, she is not as she once was when last you met, and I fear that I can no longer foresee her reaction to you."

Jacque's smile turned sad, his emerald eyes losing their shine despite the torch lights. "Shall I bring her here so that you may tell her yourself?"

The shadow stilled and knew in that instant that his words had been his own undoing. "No. She will find out for herself soon enough."

Jacque sighed but did not press the matter, turning so that he no longer saw the shadow of his old friend. "I assume then that she has left the castle?" He turned and started to walk away from the hidden throne without waiting for a dismissal.

"You think it will be easy to find her?" The curtains ruffled to a father's amused chuckle. "Not even the best of the Kreutz family can track her when she doesn't want to be found."

Jacque paused and glanced back over his shoulder. "True… but if she is even a little the girl she once was then there is only one place she'll really go where she can feel safe from the cruel hands of fate."

"Oh?" Another amused chuckle from the dark abyss. "Where do you think she's gone to then?"

Jacque grinned.

* * *

The Highlands of Scotland are truly a sight to behold, especially in the early hours of the morning where the dawn's light paints the cold twilight skies with streaks of pleasant warmth. The roaming hills and mountains are each unique unto themselves not merely because of their geography, for really what lands could ever be compared to another? No, it was not the land itself but its history remembered and forgotten, ancient and young, that made each and every hill and mountain different from each other.

The mountain known by the Gaelic tongue as Sgurr a' Mhàim is one such place with a history remembered by many and yet forgotten by all. It is not the tallest mountain in Scotland, possessing only the second highest peak in the Mamores, a land made up entirely by a vast variety of mountain ranges. The caps of Sgurr a' Mhàim are forever white not from constant snow but by a large amount of quartzite but that is not what earned the mountain's name. In the Gaelic tongue "Sgurr a' Mhàim" means "_Peak of the Pass_" a name rightfully earned as, when viewed from the slopes of Glen Nevis, the mountain resembles a great breast.

It was this very mountain that he walked not on the traditional and well-worn paths carved by centuries of climbers, sight-seers, and perhaps even the occasional passerby. No, it was not the common road he walks but one that few dared to trod not because of its undulating path but by the name of this ridge, the Devil's Ridge. By appearance it was no more dangerous than any other ridge of a mountain and lest you be a fool, there was no reason to fear a plummet to one's death but people know well that to have a name, a place must _earn_ it. No one dared to learn the history of the Devil's Ridge for none alive were there to see for themselves.

Except for her.

She is as much a woman as a mountain is a hill for to describe her so simply was a great injustice. Her clothes are of simple design and simpler make, a white dress shirt with long sleeves falling down to the palms of her gentle hands. Her slacks are dark like chilled blood, a burning crimson in the rising dawn as she sat atop a stone of quartzite with one leg dangling down while the other was clutched to a bountiful chest where more than a hint of cleavage was exposed without modesty. Her shoes rested at the stone's bottom, black like moonless night with heels sharp enough to pierce it seemed almost impossible for her to have come so far on her own with so little effort.

Her hair was brushed back with only a few locks framing the cherub of her face, the green tresses shining with a glimmering sheen that was as natural to her as breathing. Her emerald eyes were downcast, not focusing on any one thing but still bearing a focused intensity as she continued struggling for a solution to a problem new yet old.

Jacque stood until he was next to her on a smaller boulder that served as a nice chair to sit back and relax upon. She didn't give any indication that she was even aware of his presence so what else could he do but rectify? "Madainn mhath." _Good morning_.

His lips twitched at her annoyed flinch, which in itself was only the faint twitch of a delicate eyebrow. He kept his eyes locked with her own as he managed to keep a smile from his face. It would not do to earn her anger without proper cause after all. She continued to stare at him and he wondered if she even understood his words. "A bheil Gàidhlig agaibh?" _Do you speak Gaelic?_

Vibrant jade darkened to offended emerald and her fuchsia-colored lips puckered into a scornful pout. "Chan eil fhios agam… Can a-rithist sin?" _I don't know… Say that again? _He couldn't help the amused half-smirk; she was proving to be more like her father than either of them realized. "Dè tha thu ag iarraidh?" _What do you want?_

Jacque leaned back on his seat, looking away from the beautiful woman to gaze at the high slopes of the nearby Ben Nevis, Scotland's highest mountain. His stomach grumbled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten dinner but considering the hour… "Bu toigh leam bracaist a ghabhail." _I would like to have breakfast._

She stared at him with open disdain before resuming her cloud watching with a grumbled, "Asal…" _Ass…_

Ah, a chance. "Is fheàrr deagh chainnt na h-asail na droch fhacal fàidh." _The good speech of an ass is better than the bad word of a prophet._ A sound of tinkling amusement like the ringing of bells. It wasn't big enough for a laugh but it wasn't for a giggle, either way it earned a full smile from Jacque.

"Hmmm… I'll give you 60 out of 100." She spoke with a Scottish lilt to her voice though she had not wondered these lands for several years past, seeking the more untamed portions of the world for that forbidden excitement in the dark of the night.

"High praise," His own was of a strange lilt, not quite the Olde English but still bearing a modernized accent of a Yankee, "from a Lady of Class no less!"

"Oh?" She tilted her head, a strange smile on her face as she stared at him with unblinking eyes. "Where do you get such a notion?"

He tapped his chin, gazing thoughtfully up at the sky. "I could list several flowery praises that I'm sure you've heard before or I could you tell you the blunt truth." He looked back at her. "Which do you prefer?"

Her eyes narrowed and let her leg fall from her embrace as she leaned forward almost perpendicular to the ground and yet maintaining perch perfectly. She was pleased that his eyes remained on her own rather than her chest. It was fun to play with a man of honor now and again, to see how far she would have to go before they submitted to her. Still… He was difficult to read, another amusing trait, but she could see the open honesty in his eyes. He wanted to know what she'd prefer to hear and was willing to respond to her desires and still be a gentleman about it.

"I have heard much praise but it is rather uncommon for one to be blunt with me. Say whatever you wish, I'm sure I've heard it all before." She purred, reclining back on her rock, putting emphasis on her scantily covered chest.

He chuckled but still he tensed himself ready for anything for surely she'd kill him sooner than listening for the whole truth. Still, he had been in more dangerous situations these past few weeks than his entire life. What was another? "I'm a friend of your father's."

She froze, hands clenching tight enough to send cracks through her rocky perch. The air suddenly grew thick and heavy with a rising pressure making it rather hard to breathe but still he sat there relaxed as can be as she slowly sat up, her teasing flirtations gone like ash on the wind. In its place was a sudden cold fury whose shining focus in her eyes would have killed lesser men.

"I believe you are lying to me but if you truly do know him so well as to call yourself his friend then you should know me just as well. If you truly know my father, speak his name if you dare."

He glanced back at her, half-turning in his seat. She was trying to scare him and had he not already met with her father he would have been, for though he was no Devil, to speak his name aloud would certainly earn his attention and that was something the old man didn't need. "Would you really want your father here, in the one place in the entire world that is yours, Morrigan Aensland?"

Too late did he realize his mistake as her eyes alit themselves with a violet intensity, her form phasing out of focus to be replaced by her true form. Her dress was more befitting to her true nature, purple stockings decorated with bats flitting about almost as though they were alive on the cloth, a strapless black lycra bodysuit that hugged her torso like a second skin though it bore a heart-shaped cut just beneath the fleshy orbs. However, while the change of clothes was a sudden and unique change, it was nothing compared to the enormous bat wings that were spread almost defensively in front of her from where they sprouted in the middle of her back, well below her shoulders, while the much smaller pair twitched from their perch atop her head.

She was a succubus.

Still, despite the wings or perhaps even because of them, she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and he knew then that he was well and truly doomed.

Morrigan leapt down from her perch and he rose from his own, the two standing far from each other regarding the other with critical eyes though it was she who broke the tense silence first. "Who are you to know my father as to call him your friend?" She wasn't afraid but she was cautious. Her father was one of the Three Kings of Makai and those who could call him their friend could call her their enemy just as well.

"I've known your father for about as long as you, really." Jacque shrugged and half-turned away from her, looking back down at the undulating Devil's Ridge below. "It's really not place my story to tell. Not yet. But I can tell you who I am but I doubt that it will appease you any and though the day has already begun I think it too early to die."

Morrigan scoffed and crossed her arms under her chest, regarded him with cool indifference though inwardly she was a storm of emotions; fear, confusion, and anger mixed in a terrible broth. Who or what was he to treat her like her opinion actually mattered to him? She voiced the question and he regarded her out the corner of his eye.

"I am your betrothed, Morrigan Aensland." Her wings went slack and the oppressiveness of the air vanished for an instant before it was back even greater than before, organic steel now dangerously close to his neck but she kept her wings back enough to only press lightly against the skin. "… Case in point."

Jaded eyes narrowed into thin, angry slits. "Who are you really?"

"My name is Jacque." He said as if that explained everything. Her bladed wings pressed tighter and he raised an eyebrow. "What more did you expect me to say? I am not part of the Maikai except through the promise your father made to me on the day of your birth."

"Yes, he mentioned that… but what he didn't say was what you could give him in return for me."

"Ah…" Jacque smiled with sudden understanding. "You speak of a dowry… I'm sorry to burst your bubble but neither of us agreed on what I could give to him, rather it is more what I could give to you."

The wings atop her head twitched and she tilted her head questioningly but with a sudden flirtatious smile on her lips. "I have had authors write novels about me, I've had composer write sonnets, and I've had artists draw me. I've received gifts from the rich and powerful throughout this world and the Maikai. How are you any different?"

"Because when I look at you I don't see an object to be replicated, a trophy to be put on display, or a stepping stone for grandeur. I see a woman who isn't afraid to do what she wants no matter what others might think of her for her actions, reckless or otherwise, I see a warrior strong enough to stand against an insane demigod and walk away alive and victorious but not without injury, and I see a queen who cares just enough about to world to realize that the Balance of Darkness and Light is absolute, that there can be no dominion of one or the other."

The stiffness in her spine relaxed and the hardened steel softened into fleshy membrane as her wings retracted to fold like a living skirt around her voluptuous hips. "Well you certainly have better manners than most of my would-be suitors." She glanced at him out the corner of her eyes. "You spoke well of your difference but what is it that you can offer me? Would you give me the world, the riches of my wildest dreams, or perhaps you'll give me eternity?" Morrigan scoffed, tossing her tresses back over her shoulder. "I don't need an eternity of love; just one moment of passion is enough for me."

"That's the talk of a child too caught up in their own web of lies to realize the truth they deny. You don't hate eternity for what is eternity to one whose years border past centuries and well into millennia?" Jacque shook his head. "You fear that eternity is as it sounds, an endless cycle of repetition but you're wrong. Nothing is eternal." He started circling her and Morrigan followed him with her eyes.

"What do you want from me?" She asked him, meeting dark emerald with cold jade, two serpents dancing in a slow circle around the other. She had made the first two strikes and he evaded well but if Jacque was to win he'd have to strike back harder and fiercer.

"I want your midnight horror, your wicked design. I want your forbidden love and I want your dark revenge because, you and me? We can write a whole new kind of bad romance." Jacque closed on her until the last of his words were tickling whispers on her lips. They were sharing the same breathe and so close to each other it was hard for them to ignore the other's scent.

By her nature, Morrigan smelled of heated passions made on the sands where rolling waves echoed the lovemaking between two lovers. A trace of spice-enriched winds, wild and untamed and downright teasing with their allure, a smell of warmed blood spilled in the heat of combat.

By his nature, Jacque smelled of cloudless midnight, where the moon and stars illuminated the darkness with their stories as cruel and spiteful clouds flickered resentfully by on the horizon. A trace of autumn leaves falling on winds cooled with the touch of death, a smell of candies sweet and bitter to the tongue.

Cool jade sparked with sudden clarity, a memory forgotten with a shattered power but united as she now was, it returned with crystalline clarity. He had changed since then, barely in some ways, astronomically in others, but the important part of him, the one piece of eternity that even she could cherish, was still there in the him that was here. Hellish flames ignited in clawed hands but her wrists were clenched tightly in rough hands, the hands of one who has worked for everything he has rather than receive it at his feet.

"You bastard…!" She hissed, her Scottish accent thick with rage. "Where have you been? Where have you _been_ that you come to me now? Where were you then when I wanted you, when I _needed_ you?" The infernal bond, the one she had so foolishly made when she was a younger fool than she was now, rang with louder clarity than ever before, the once dull sound in the back of her mind a symphony of music, the song of her soul uniting with his as—

_No… that… that was impossible…_

A fierce feline growl dissuaded her claim though it came not from him.

To every bond a succubus makes there is a ruling to it, a dominance of the succubus to her chosen mate and she, a foolish and selfish child had seen a chance to escape from her duties as royalty and had taken it without regards to the consequences. She had made a bond with him but had placed dominance in his hands, making her the submissive partner and forcing years of emotional torment as the bond forced her own power back unto herself. To be the servant meant to be the dominant's perfect ideal, a mate that was theirs in body and soul. Those years had been agonizing but in the time since she had all but forgotten it as the lack of his presence did nothing to strengthen the bond, but here, now, the bond was stronger than ever before and in his arms she realized a shocking truth.

"I am subservient to you just as you are subservient to me." Jacque released her wrists and stepped back, giving her some space to breathe as she seemed to have forgotten how. "The bond between a succubus and her mate… was always meant to be a one-sided affair and never before was there a succubus who ever dared to create a bond with herself as the servant."

He smiled, a strange sadness in his eyes. "But then… there never was nor ever will be another like you. The Makai is _dying_ Morrigan, and nothing will change that. In a couple of decades, the last darkstalker will be born… In a few centuries, the last of the noble families will crumble… and in a millennia hence… the Makai will be dead and gone with nothing left for it but a forbidden page in History, where only those with darkness in their hearts can read."

Morrigan stared at him, her face unreadable though her eyes were luminous with tears. "If that is truly the case then why bother_?_ What is the point?"

"The point is… that I have had my fair share of lovers in my life but none of them were strong enough to walk with me through the cruel light of the day and the shadowed horrors of the night. I've buried more children than I care to even think about and what few are left… I will not hurt them more by revealing who I am to them." Jacque turned away from her completely, moving to stand on the edge of the mountain's top, staring down the rocky slopes to the roaming hills of emerald as the sun rose in a bloodied sky.

"I am _tired_ Morrigan. I want to sleep _so badly_… but I can't. Not yet. I have to keep going or everything I've ever done, the lives won and lost, the nightmares tamed and the dreams forgotten… it will all be in vain. I have to keep moving forward but I can't do it on my own anymore… I need someone to stand beside me as my equal. I need a woman with courage, a warrior with power, a queen of intelligence. I need _you_ Morrigan. If you'll have me."

She stared at him in silence, her face empty of any emotion while her wings settled loosely upon her. She crossed her arms and made a show of looking him over like one would a newly bought pet but there was a teasing light in her jade eyes. She met his eyes with her own. "An toir thu dhomh pòg?" _Will you give me a kiss?_

Jacque's answer was to step forward until their noses were just barely touching, a hand reaching up and stroking the side of her face while the other went to her side, sliding downwards and cupping the curves of her full hips. He slowly leaned in and pressed his lips gently to her own. His tongue licked at her lips and she allowed him entry into her mouth and together they dueled for dominance over the other. His hands continued to roam the soft fields of her flesh, causing pleasant tingles that warmed a slowly filling pool of pleasure below, which would likely have overflowed had he not suddenly pulled back from her.

He straightened his clothes and appeared none the different save for a pleased blush that spread across the bridge of his nose while Morrigan herself was merely out-of-breath more from surprise than anything else. It wasn't since her first true feeding that she felt such a rush of power and for a moment she was afraid. To have such power in a simple kiss… what would it be like when…?

"One more question." She brushed back her hair with a careless hand, regaining her composure with a bright smile on her porcelain face. "Where's the ring?"

* * *

Slitted eyes stared at the reflected image of the Scottish Highlands, watching with cold disdain as a pair of figures vanished away in a haze of purple tinted flames, a woman's laughter echoing across the mountainside with a man's deep chuckling matching in its symphony. A goblet flew through the air, shattering the glass and spilling its crimson liquid onto the cold cobblestones of the room's interior. A gloved hand clenched tightly as whispered promises returned once more in the foreboding depths of his ancient mind. He had not believed them then but the proof was evident before him and if he was to have her as his, he had no other choice but to bow his head in servitude.

It wouldn't be the first time…

But it certainly will be the last.

* * *

_The cool touch of temperance masters the untamed flames of lust._


End file.
